Chasing the Dragon by Justina Robson Read Free Book Online

her as they got into the empty lift car.
    Lila frowned, "The elves wouldn't talk to me if I were the last
person in Otopia."
    His grin intensified; he was all loose-limbed bonhomie again.
"Then you'll get a lot of days off."
    She wasn't sure she got why he was so amused by it until they got
to the door of the laboratories that the old elf had used to call his own
and opened the door. It was in the old building, which had been
remodelled but not rebuilt, though this part was untouched as far as
she could see. Cleaning couldn't disguise the wear in the corridors, but
it was almost as she remembered it. Malachi flittered his fingers and
undid some magical thing that had been around the door; then he used
a passkey and his thumbprint and got the door to slide back. The
lights came on, blinking slowly as though from a deep sleep.
    Malachi hung back as Lila moved deeper into the abandoned space.
Everywhere she felt the presence of Sarasilien, as clearly as if she were
walking inside his ghost. Tears pricked her eyes and she felt her throat
harden. She wished he were there. She would have liked to punch him
because she was so damned angry about the way he'd held out the truth
on her for so long whilst letting her so easily fall against his surrogate
father support. She wanted to hug him and feel his narrow, powerful
arms hold her close to him, smell the strange herbal and sweet scents of
the layers of linen he wore, feel his vital energy surround her with its
healing, forgiving balm. He was a lying bastard, but he was the only
person she knew in whose arms she could have really relaxed, if only for
a second. She'd not been aware of it, but here, standing in his empty aura among his work and investigations and all the trivia of his daily
life, the loss of that comfort was a spear of sharp pain in her solar plexus.

    Moving as if drawn on a string, she walked through the laboratories and pushed the door open at the far end that led into his personal
rooms. The hinges creaked and juddered, dry as old bones. The object
she was looking for was right in front of her under the dove grey drapes,
an unmistakable shape. She bent down and lifted the edge of its sheet,
slowly so as to let the dust roll back without clouding. Underneath it
the muted Persian colours of the old chaise longue glowed suddenly
with amber and crimson richness, and there on the edge lay a
diaphanous black-and-gold scrap of fabric, the very piece she had seen
him bury his face in, crying, the last time she'd laid eyes on him.
    She saw her fingers reach out, black leather opera gloves, and take
hold of the feathery thing. As it moved a sudden scent of opium rose
from it, laced with sandalwood and brimstone. In her mind's eye she
saw Sorcha, sassy and sexy and opulent, lounging right here, teasing
the old elf with her immaculate feet, her sultry voice.
    He'd loved her.
    Lila put the scarf back. She wasn't ready to face it fully just yet.
She let the dust sheet fall and hide it again and sniffed, rubbing her
nose as it flooded to rid itself of dust, and straightened up. Malachi was
a short distance behind her. She turned and found him closer, taller,
more awkward, his face become entirely a beast's but so full of concern
that she wasn't frightened by it.
    This was the shape he'd been in Under, a man-cat creature that was
feral and shadow. It had none of his contemporary beauty except in its
feline power. His clothes and shades were gone. Thick fur covered him,
black stripes glossy in matte black depths.
    "The magic on this door undoes me," he said with great difficulty
around his massive teeth. "Nobody has been able to lift it."
    She wondered who had tried to come here, and as if he read her
mind he added, "Nobody could touch anything. They tried for days. Months. Eventually they left it as you see." Seeing her puzzlement he
bent down and lifted the sheet where she had, stretching out one massive paw. It opened into a crudely